


Focus

by orphan_account



Category: Cowboys & Aliens (2011)
Genre: Alien Technology, Cowboys, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-06
Updated: 2011-08-06
Packaged: 2017-10-22 07:12:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/235281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jake's heart-sick after Ella dies. He just needs someone who understands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Focus

"Here, give her my water. She's hurt."

Jake collapses in the dust of the desert that surrounds them, unable to carry Ella any further, glad to have finally made it in the midst of camp. Dolarhyde and Doc rush over when they see.

They can tell right away that Ella is hurt bad.

The Doc leans over her body to check her pulse: there is none. He desperately puts a hand over her mouth to check if there's any air coming back out, and again, he has to shake his head.

"Son, she's gone. You need to drink this before you go the same way," says Dolarhyde, passing him the canteen back.

"She ain't! She ain't gone, you son of a bitch. Don't say that about her!" Jake hollers, standing up and drawing his gun on the two men.

Dolarhyde's not afraid. He understands that the boy's just heart-sick.

He instructs Doc to take the body--"Ella," he amends quite quickly--back to the others and prepare her for a proper burial.

When Doc has made it out of range, he draws his own weapon.

"Son--"

"I ain't your no-good son!"

Jake sets off a warning shot. Dolarhyde gives him a fierce look at the insult, but he softens slightly when he sees Jake's eyes are wet with tears that refuse to fall.

"Put your gun down, boy. No need to shoot someone who's just trying to talk some sense."

To his surprise, Jake holsters his gun again; to his dismay, Jake uses this advantage to charge at him, tackling him to the ground, straddling him, and pummeling him into the sand.

"Don't. Talk. About. Ella. Like. She. Ain't. Even. Here!" punctuating each word with a punch to wherever his fists chose to land, losing his finesse as he let his anger boil over.

Dolarhyde was not one to sit there and take it. In Jake's already weakened state, Dolarhyde easily spins them around, giving Jake a solid punch to the mouth. Unnerved, Jake began squirming underneath the heavy body that now had him pinned to the ground. He moves so much, that Dolarhyde finally had to pin not only his hips, but also his hands to the desert floor before he hurt himself.

"Stop it! Just stop, goddamn it!" Dolarhyde threatened.

Continuing to writhe, he began to notice that Jake was mouthing words each time he twisted underneath him. Listening to him more closely, he recognized that it was a mantra of her name: _Ella, Ella, Ella_.

He bucked his hips again, and it was then quite obvious who he was thinking about. It was also obvious that the fact that he was rutting against a man who was furthermost from Jake's mind at the moment. To send him back off to camp in this state would do them no good. They needed everyone to be in peak condition for when the demons came back.

"Alright, boy, alright. Go on."

At his words, Jake closed his eyes, becoming more unaware of his surroundings, allowing him to focus on feeling rather than on sight. He snapped his hips up again and again, grinding their groins together in burning friction.

"Come on, come on," Dolarhyde coaxes, voice gravelly in the heat of the moment.

Jake moans deeply at the sound of his voice, and Dolarhyde is surprised that his voice has such an effect on him. Eyes still squeezed shut, he tries to free his hands again, wanting badly to free himself from his constricting pants. The pressure is building too much, and he struggles and struggles until he knows he has to speak but isn't sure he remembers how.

"Hands...Need my hands," he pleads.

Dolarhyde cautiously lets one go, and he immediately unbutton his chaps and his fly. He sighs with relief when his erection is freed. Jake wraps his hand around his cock and begins to stroke himself. Unused to seeing another man's cock, Dolarhyde can't help but take a curious glance down. The head is weeping and the shaft is a bright pink; his balls are pulled tight up against the skin that holds them. It doesn't take a genius to know he's this-close to coming, but something is keeping him from doing so.

"Can't--can't do it--I-I need," Jake tries to say, hand jerking up and down, not even sure of what he needs or what he's asking, his eyes squinting in dismay.

Bravely, Dolarhyde shoves Jake's away and holds it in his own hand. But he ain't gonna do this particular act without some eye contact. It's too intimate, too personal, too real for either of them to pretend that this isn't happening anymore.

"Open your eyes. Look at me."

Jake turns his head back to Dolarhyde and slowly opens them. And when blue meets blue, it's like an electric current is shooting down Dolarhyde's spine and pooling in his groin. He shifts uncomfortably, but shakes it off. He needs to focus on Jake.

"There you go. Atta boy."

It's not long before Jake is putty in his hands, panting and moaning on each stroke. It doesn't take much to get the younger man to come after that, as tightly wound as he had been. He grabs a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe off his mucky hand. He generously cleans off Jake's cock before discarding the cloth.

When he stands up, his knees crack. He isn't as young as he used to be, so it does him good knowing that he was able to be of some help to the young buck before him. He wasn't that old yet.

When Jake finally finds the energy to pull himself up, he awkwardly does up his pants and chaps with his back to Dolarhyde, who chuckles to himself.

"Too late now, boy. I already seen everything you have."

Jake's cheeks color red.

"Don't worry, son. Right now you need some brandy and a good, long sleep.

Jake can't help but nod in agreement.


End file.
